The Games She Played
by SeaMar
Summary: Harry hid. Ginny sought. But that's all it ever was. A game. One shot, drabble of sorts


The Games She Played

A/N: This is a drabble of a one-shot inspired by a heartbroken friend and an over-reactive imagination. It's nothing special, it runs on, it has no real purpose. But bear with me. I'm tired feeling an odd sense of exasperation at the moment.

This is dedicated to Carly. I'm sure he's smiling down on you from above.

- - - - -

Ginny Weasley had never believed in fate. To the contrary she was a firm supporter of luck and hard work holding on tightly to the notion that an abundance of the latter usually led to the former.

Harry Potter was very much the opposite. He had mused on many a sleepless night about the cards life had dealt him. In the end he had come up with the very profound (at least in his general opinion) conclusion that it had to be fate. Because as far as he was concerned nothing else could fully cover all the elements of the confusing mystery that was his existence. Or so he thought.

Ginny had decided at the tender age of eleven that Harry's views on fate were not a matter of much concern, because ideals over fate couldn't make or break a relationship.

So she had pursued the great Harry Potter in all of his unworthiness. For four years she bumbled her way around him, making a prime example of how to play a silly girl oppressed by unrequited love. But then she had remembered her ideals.

She took her own words to heart in front of the fire on a cloudy night during her sixth year of school. In her mind hard work would equal luck and she would need all the luck in the world to woo a melodramatic, war-torn Harry.

She began the chase.

It could be argued that she had always chased, but this time it was different. Ginny was pursuing Harry with a vengeance.

It wasn't exactly hard to note the change in her demeanor over the months that followed.

She listened to Harry, talked to him, consoled him, and did everything near or directly in front of him. As a matter of fact, it was clear to everyone, even Ron, what her intentions were. But Harry didn't exactly fall under the generalized category of an everyone. Meaning, he was clueless.

It was a clear night when it happened. Harry had run off to the Quidditch pitch and Ginny had sought him out.

It didn't take long to find him.

"What you doing?" She asked.

"Nothing." He answered noncommittally.

"Sounds interesting." She pushed some of the sand at her feet around in little circles.

"It is."

No more was said. What more could be said at that point? Looking back on the situation on future nights Ginny would have a good laugh. It had all been so very dramatic, the scene had been just right, the tone sarcastic, the ending bitter.

As Ginny stood there staring at Harry in the evening light she decided that she had worked hard enough over the past six years. It was time to test her luck.

When their lips met no fireworks exploded in the sky. No doves flew out of the Quidditch stands. No choir music resounded from the heavens. It was all very lackluster. Very plain.

It didn't make sense to her. She had caught the snitch, metaphorically speaking. She had won the house cup in romance. But as she stood there looking at Harry against the backdrop of the setting sun it all clicked into place.

Harry had always hid. She had always sought. But that's all it had ever been. A game.

Harry symbolized the thrill of the chase. Ginny was notorious for loving the chase and not the prize. This situation seemed to serve as no exception.

"Thank you." Ginny looked at Harry sincerely.

"For what?" He asked gruffly.

"For – " She paused. "Entertaining me."

She smiled wryly. And Harry smiled back.

"Glad to be of service." He bounced around on the balls of his feet.

"I believe in luck." She had said abruptly.

"Do you?" He had asked rhetorically.

"Yes." Ginny answered anyway. "Do you?"

Harry thought about it for a moment.

"No." He finally answered.

And that was all the proof Ginny Weasley would ever need. Because, to her, ideals were more important than a boy.


End file.
